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 Sep 2015 T McGilberry
David Hall
never feel guilty for not doing something,
                                   that you still have time to do
 Sep 2015 T McGilberry
David Hall
Life is like a broken car stereo,
on a hundred year road trip.

For the first few years everything is great.
You have the sun on your face, the wind in your hair
and you are hearing every song for the first time.
All the roads you are driving are familiar and close to home,
you don’t have a care in the world.

Around about year 13
you start to drive into unfamiliar territory.
The **** falls off on the death metal station.
You find yourself mad at the world for no reason
so you forget about the songs of your youth and
just go with it.

Making a pit stop at year 22
You find that pesky **** under the seat.
You start searching for the happy stations
you recall from the beginning of the trip,
but by this time you have picked up passengers
and they have taken over any station decisions.

Cruising through year 30
You decide to get your road trip in order.
You have preset all the stations that everyone listens to
and come up with a schedule so that everything is fair.
But at year 34 you cross state lines and the stations change,
leaving you with unhappy passengers and the daunting task
of figuring out the stereo all over again.

Obeying the speed limit around year 45
You finally have more control of the music of your trip.
Most of your passengers have stereos of their own now.
Unfortunately your stereo has started to wear out
and your favorite stations only come in clear occasionally.
You suffer through the static with the hopes
that the station will stay clear just long enough
to hear your favorite song.

Looking for a rest stop close to year 80
You can barely hear the music anymore and
that’s if the stereo will even turn on these days.
No one is left to disagree with you over the stations
so the radio stays permanently tuned to your old favorites.
You find yourself pretty sure you have heard all the songs
on the radio and are really looking forward to your destination.

The radio breaks close to year 100
As you get out of the car and head into the light of your destination,
all the songs of your journey play to remind you of the
people you have loved and the places you have been.
 Sep 2015 T McGilberry
David Hall
this isn't the me that I see
at night when I close my eyes
these hands are the wrong shape
these hips are the wrong size
this isn't the hair that I wear
when i go walking in my dreams
this isn't the voice that I hear
when the voice inside me sings
these eyes are the wrong color
to be the gateway to my soul
this mirror sees a part of me
it doesn't show the whole
how can I show the world
the person that I am  inside
when this person staring back at me
is where my spirit hides
 Sep 2015 T McGilberry
David Hall
I don’t dream in color anymore
only black and white
I used to dream with eyes wide open
now I only dream at night
I can’t hear the music playing anymore
like I used to in my youth
back when my heart knew a million stories
and didn’t struggle with the truth
I wonder whatever happened to that boy
I don’t think I’ll ever know
I hope he just fell asleep somewhere
with the colors that he stole
 Aug 2015 T McGilberry
GaryFairy
If you were broken, and i had the parts to fix you
i would work on you both night and day
but, i'm afraid the parts that i use would mix you
and take the best parts of you away
 Aug 2015 T McGilberry
Kat
Isn’t physically quick or agile.

Disappears in libraries.

Has been known to dissolve into the physical pages of books.

Is good at tucking herself into the stacks and retreating to reading nooks.

Blends in at coffee shops where her voice can be drowned out by the grinding and the steaming.

Can become indistinguishable in the dark of theatres, in the quiet shuffle of art galleries, the finger-snapping of poetry readings, the hum and jostle of the Tube.

Is indistinct. Adept at hiding in plain sight.
It is my theory
that we are all connected.
From the thread around your finger
to the ribbon on her wrist
and the rope tightened on my neck.
Every action has a consequence,
because when you pull on the string;
*something unravels.
I taught myself to waltz
so I could dance with
the skeletons in your closet.
It's a gruesome sight
as we spin through the silence.
Silence broken only by whispers
of your secrets divulged to me.
And I learned that I was
dancing with the devil.
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